


god doesn't play games with the universe

by sgt_jerk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn, Canon Compliant, M/M, Missing Scene, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Apocalypse, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 09:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19331476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgt_jerk/pseuds/sgt_jerk
Summary: She doesn’t play games with the universe, but angel’s hearts are still fully on the table.





	god doesn't play games with the universe

Aziraphale was irritatingly beautiful, in the way all angels were beautiful. As far as he’d seen, every last one of them produced a kind of slick, sunlit aura, all to the purpose of reminding one of bright sunshine days and holiday cheer. It was cloying, was what it was. Crowley didn’t know a single demon that could stand to be around their sort of purity of spirit for any extended amount of time. Notable in exception, of course, was himself.

As they laid in bed, the morning after the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, one couldn’t help but reflect on one’s own increased tolerance for angelic aura in particular, and for Aziraphale’s angelic aura specifically. It was still there, all sunshine and cozy afternoons with a good cup of tea. But Crowley was sort of, in his own particular way, still a snake, and curling up in Aziraphale’s warmth just seemed so...deliciously appetizing.

Did it mean that he was becoming less demonic? After all, occult beings’ status were fundamentally subject to change, as the whole Fall ordeal had proven. Crowley supposed that it was also just as likely that Aziraphale could become subject to, or even as tolerant of his own demonic influence as he was of his angelic one. Tolerance was part of his duties, after a fashion.

Still. Crowley didn’t like the notion of Aziraphale falling. It just didn’t seem right. He was much too clever for that, and too much of a stick in the mud besides. At least, up until this week.

And regardless of what they said about intolerable angelic auras, demons were, as it happened, more than slightly partial to angels. It was in their nature, he supposed, to want back what they had been before the fall, and not to mention such desires being part and parcel with the whole ‘sinful covetousness’ thing. Wanting what you can’t have, and all that. Whether angels experienced this particular shade of attraction, he could only speculate at. Insomuch as Crowley _had_ been right; that they _were_ just on their own side now, Aziraphale had agreed to spend the night at his place.

Crowley had been jittery the whole bus ride back to London, and was currently preoccupied with not disturbing the angel, who was snoring gently in his very large bed.

The two of them didn’t need to sleep, not exactly. They didn’t need to sleep in the same way that Aziraphale didn’t need to take regularly scheduled lunch breaks at the French patisserie around the block from the book shop; so to say that even though they could go without it, it was much more pleasant if they did. Both of them, having had an astronomically eventful day, had wordlessly decided to fall into bed well after midnight. The angel, having pulled a matching set of silken pajamas out of who knows where, had tentatively nestled on the far side of his bed, while Crowley had busied himself picking up things around the apartment. The whole ordeal had taken it out of him, and when Crowley had returned to his room, the angel was soundly asleep, blonde curls stubbornly poking up from underneath his covers. If his heart had flopped over itself at the sight of it, there was no one around to notice. He’d swallowed, hard, summoning his own pajamas, and gingerly slithered into the bed, scooting over as close as was safe. Falling asleep with someone else’s breathing next to his was shockingly, sinfully easy, and for the first time in an eternity, he hadn’t wondered what the Lords of Hell would think if they found out.

It was all much too easy.

Even though Crowley, admittedly, didn’t take his personal role as heavenly adversary very seriously, the main reason why he’d fallen in the first place was because he’d asked too many questions. Been, in his own way, a little too skeptical. It was simply in his demonic nature to question things, as much as it was in Aziraphale’s angelic nature to lean into faith.

And at this very moment, with an angel peacefully resting in a demon’s bed, Crowley couldn’t help but worry that it had been just...too simple.

“Angel. Don’t you think this is all a little.....”

“....Tickety boo?” The angel rolled over with a gentle rustling of sheets, yawning and blinking away sleep to peer over at the demon next to him. His eyes really were quite a striking shade of blue. Crowley could feel the rest of his sentence die in his throat, but revived it after a moment of gaping. He was suddenly acutely aware of the absence of his sunglasses.

“Yes. Morning, I suppose.”

“I suppose so.” Crowley had flicked his gaze elsewhere in order to finish his sentence, but could still feel Aziraphale’s eyes on him.

“My dear, I...I don’t think we need to worry. At least, not now.” Something deep in Crowley’s stomach sprung, not at the pet name, but at the tenderness in Aziraphale’s voice.

“But what if Agnes-“

“Agnes hasn’t been wrong yet. And for what it’s worth, I think you did a spectacular job.” The springing feeling had grown and migrated into his chest, now fluttering and dipping where it couldn’t be ignored. He just knew his face was going red, _stupid traitorous human body_.

“And besides, we have all the time in the world to do what humans do and...figure it out.” The angel’s voice went painfully, exquisitely gentle at that, and Crowley made himself look up at him. Aziraphale was rolled on his side, one hand lingering on the mattress, fallen in bridging the gap between them.

He couldn’t tell if it was the demonic or angelic part of him that was screaming that this was utterly, non-negotiably foolish.

Silencing it in the only way he knew how, he drew the angel’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, his mouth registering the sweetly smooth warmth that seemed to spread and cover all over him.

He could feel Aziraphale let out a gasp, and pulled away.

“Crowley...” His eyes were wide as saucers, wings fully manifested behind him and Crowley knew he should have been scared _shitless_ , that this angel could have brought the wrath of all of God’s soldiers down on him for such a transgression, but all he felt was that Aziraphale’s glowing warmth had turned into a blazing, shimmering heat that was encompassing him and cupping him close. He really was so, unfairly beautiful.

“I want to have all the time in the world. With you. If you’ll have me, I c-“ The spill of words that came tumbling out of him was stopped by Aziraphale pulling him to his chest and kissing him square on the mouth with a strength that melted Crowley instantly.

It encompassed him entirely, and in a moment, it was all just so...simple. He’d forgotten what faith was like, but he could have sworn before Lucifer himself that it felt like a soft hand cupping his jaw with another tucked up in the sensitive spot between his wings, that it felt like his angel’s tongue gently lathing at his bottom lip and pressing Crowley to his chest, as close as breath.

“...Of course I’ll have you. I...I love you.” Crowley, having nothing to do with his mouth once Aziraphale had broken away, gaped. The curled thing in his chest burst forth and soared clear to the skies. “I’ve loved you for quite some time, and, well. I don’t much care what Agnes Nutter has to say about it.” Aziraphale had the nerve to look _bashful_ , which matched the pink flush in his cheeks quite nicely, if Crowley had any say in the matter. The demon couldn’t help but grin up at him, and kiss him again.

He carded his fingers up the back of his neck and into the base of his curls, eliciting a softly pleased hum into his mouth.

He detached himself long enough to bump his nose against Aziraphale’s, and the angel laughed gently in return.“I’ve loved you for _quite some time_ as well, Angel.”

And in a matter of moments they were laughing, smiling like idiots and bumping foreheads together at the absolute, ineffable ridiculousness of it all. Aziraphale’s hand still rested on his back, ensuring his closeness, while Crowley’s played about the angel’s collar, content to brush up against his heartbeat every once and awhile.

If God did play games with the universe, Crowley thought, this certainly had to be a time in which maybe, just _maybe_ , she had let them win.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a fevered state over? Two nights? I think? Anyway, enjoy, they're husbands and I've been waiting a decade for this fandom to self-resurrect.


End file.
